Beautiful, beloved

1

Deja

I sometimes wonder what it feels like to die.

Under the burning shower, with cascades of water cocooning my body, I think: could death really be such a bad thing? Everything dark could be left behind. The pain, the memories, the mourning, everything. Maybe I'd drink too much one night and walk into the wrong alleyway, or perhaps my car would skid off an icy road and into a tree.

It could be simple. Quick, like the snap of a chord.

These thoughts raid my mind more often than they should. It's like clockwork. Every mourning I end up here. Here I was thinking of death as I am expected at work in half an hour. My hand reaches for the knob of the faucet turning it off.

Water collects itself on my bare skin until it drips down the curves of my body. I snatch a towel draped over the hand rail, wrapping the fabric around me. The atmosphere fogs and the mirror blurs blocking out any visible relations. My fingertips grow clammy as I wipe my hand over the mirror staring at my reflection. I stared at my image in the mirror, a woman's glow evaporating from passing time. My focus was mainly on what I had perceived as flaws.

I crease my brow grasping onto the thought, wondering if I would ever survive this city.

In my recent decades of living here, the portrayal of Gotham has been as a dark and foreboding place with crime and corruption. The sun had been barely hanging above the horizon, just high enough to brush a few pale sun strips over my face as I glanced out my bathroom window. The suns morality synchronized the moons abundance, as the sun narrowed a pigeon blue color revealing the mourning's somber gaze.

I felt my body shiver from the cool breeze looming through my opened window. My feet padded hurriedly along the tiled bathroom floor reaching for the windows latch shutting it close, sealing it tight.

I let the towel unravel as it slides down my body, the cold air instantly nipping my skin, my hand brushes my robe as I slide into it tying a knot in the front. I strut towards my wardrobe scanning over my many articles of mini dresses and pantsuits. A sharp scent of incense embosomed me in opulent fumes which caressed my eyelids, naturally drawing my thoughts and focus toward my bed.

I lay down an elegant white mini dress which optimised the fitting of a mini female blazer. I glance over at my nightstand noticing my cat Milo propped on top of it. His domestic features characterized white and black, his abnormality inherited a neuroticism showing his shyness.

My hands trails along the shagginess of his mane, as acceptance Milo begins purring with satisfaction nuzzling his head further into my hand. "Mommies, gotta go to work." I praise pressing a quick kiss on his furry head. As a rejection Milo flops back on the bed, all paws extended in the air. A faint chuckle disperses my lips as my mouth spreads into a small smile.

"I know, I know. I don't want to go either. Have to face the boss sooner or later." A few months ago, I was accepted to work at Wayne enterprises, a receptionist accompanied to former boss Bruce Wayne. sincerely, known for his alluring image, riches beyond measure, central playboy etc. I personally thought his aspect on certain obtained courses was highly reluctant. He seemed to always be in a ill-natured sentiment. He very rarely smiles and over-stimulates a certain point being as serious as he can be. It keeps him impassive; others have a harder time reading him, it's what keeps him Bruce. It keeps him divided from the world. Its what makes him entirely mysterious.

I on the other hand had despised Bruce Wayne. His whole attitude and his expectations of himself grew with him the more praise and how much people glorified him adding to his self absorbent characteristics. I pull myself from my thoughts gazing above my bedroom doorway where my clock was nailed into the wall.